


To remain a man

by solraneth



Category: Don Carlos | Don Carlo - Verdi/du Locle/Méry
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, I'm terrible at tagging, M/M, long story short these two are fucked up and gay, oh btw it's not just porn although there's some of that too, sort of...?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:22:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28200828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solraneth/pseuds/solraneth
Summary: "Rodrigo glances up and watches this man above him shudder with pleasure and thinks that maybe, maybe in another world - in another lifetime where Philip wasn’t a king, where there was no Carlo, no Flanders, no empire to think about – they could have been happy, two men together. Maybe in that life he could love Philip."Or, have you even wondered what happens after they sing "Ah, sii maledetto, sospetto fatale" and Rodrigo and Philip leave through the same door? Yeah me too
Relationships: Philippe II | Filippo II/Rodrigue | Rodrigo (Don Carlos)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 6





	To remain a man

**Author's Note:**

> *throws characterization out of the window* *flings timeline from the balcony* *cracks knuckles* Alright, let's give the baritone some kisses! And orgasms. They both deserve something nice before everything goes to hell ok?  
> Also, I'm not a native speaker and this is unbeta'd, etc etc

Rodrigo watches the King step towards Elisabeth, reaching out to her, touching her hair, her shoulder. He looks unsure, almost timid, as if he’s frightened he’ll scare her away, which is ironic, considering the damage he has done already. She doesn’t seem to be aware of him though, wrapped in Eboli’s arms, head hidden in the crook of the Princess’ neck. Perhaps she simply ignores him, after all, with all the insults Philip heaped on her, who could blame her? Rodrigo hears Philip’s resigned sigh as steps away from Elisabeth, deciding to leave her alone. At the same time, his gaze falls on Rodrigo, who promptly gives a small bow but the King’s eyes are empty and he doesn’t seem to notice his favourite. Instead of acknowledging Posa in any way, Philip turns and leaves the room.

Rodrigo keeps his distance as he follows Philip out of the study. Just before the door closes behind them, Posa catches a brief cry of “mercy!” and at once pieces fall into place on their own - Rodrigo thinks of Carlo’s portrait and Elisabeth’s jewel casket on Philip’s desk; he thinks of Eboli’s boldness in the garden the other day; of her defeated expression when she saw the Queen faint; of fury on the King’s face as he waved her away from Elisabeth. The look that passed between Philip and Eboli might’ve been inscrutable to anyone else, but to Rodrigo, who has become familiar with not only the secrets of the palace but also with the King’s bed, it spoke volumes.  
So this was the ‘power’ Eboli was talking about. Posa should have understood it right away. Nobody would be that bold - especially not in front of Philip’s favourite - if they didn’t have some connection to the King. Rodrigo knows the same daring has shown in his behaviour as well. He and Eboli had never been close, but he used to be well-disposed to her. That is until she tried to seduce Carlo, promptly discovered his love for Elisabeth, and betrayed her. Rodrigo knows that is the main reason for the resentment he feels towards her. And yet, the image stuck in his head is that of her and Philip together.

The short walk to the King’s chambers is silent and Posa finds he is comfortable with that. He knows Philip will talk to him eventually and this pause just gives him time to collect his own thoughts. And he does have a lot to think about, considering recent developments. Putting Carlo in prison gave him an additional day to reevaluate his plans and protect his friend from any trouble, but time is short and Rodrigo knows he should act fast. Carlo will never forgive him for what he’s decided to do, Posa knows. But the circumstances demand a sacrifice from him, which he’s happy to give. His duty, first and foremost, is to Carlo and he will make sure he fulfils it.  
Rodrigo is promptly brought back to reality when Philip stops in front of his bedchamber, arm braced against the doorframe.

“Come in,” Philip phrases it as an order but Posa almost winces at the pleading notes in his voice. Although he’s been with the King in his more grim moments, such a depressed tone is news to him. Philip never asks for anything, never pleads and yet from his hollow voice it is clear to Rodrigo how desperate Philip is for his company.  
Philip opens the door and stands aside, gesturing for him to go in. Posa brushes past the King and hears the faint click of the lock behind him as he walks into the room.

So, it seems that he will stay with the King for a while, then. Rodrigo’s eyes follow Philip as he walks forward and sinks into the chair by the bed. Posa looks at this lonely, paranoid man, takes in his slumped posture and the lines on his forehead, and wants nothing more than to take him into his arms. Yes, he should hate the King, but he’s come to care for him more than he dares to admit, even to himself. This man in front of him has drowned half of Europe in blood, yet it’s so hard to connect that image with the same person who was kissing him so tenderly yesterday evening. And now he looks so defeated that Rodrigo can’t bring himself to resent him. He opens his mouth to say something, to console Philip somehow, but closes it abruptly. The King can be unpredictable when in one of his more gloomy moods. It is true, Rodrigo is close to Philip, closer than anyone else at the moment, but in times like these he’s unsure how to act – he’s noticed the father is prone to the same emotional outbursts and mood swings as the son. So Rodrigo clasps his hands behind his back and patiently waits for Philip to address him.

“Well,” Philip begins eventually, “are you planning to stand in the corner all day? You have never been shy before. Or afraid.” He raises his head and his eyes sweep over Rodrigo. “I know how they all see me. I know I’m a villain in their eyes.” He pauses before meeting Rodrigo’s gaze again, his expression painfully vulnerable. “What about you, Posa, do you see me as a villain?”

“I think you’re merely human, Sire.”

“Am I still ' _sire _' to you?” Blood rushes to Rodrigo’s cheeks at Philip’s accusatory tone. He’s been asked to use Philip’s name before but years of court etiquette aren’t easy to forget or unlearn. “No-one in the world is closer or dearer to me than you are, Rodrigo. Not even the Queen. And you saw what happened with her.” The sigh that escapes Philip seems to shake his whole body. “I was wrong to suspect her,” he continues, his voice low, “she has been faithful to me, I know it now. I suppose you did try to tell me, didn’t you? I should have believed you. I was too blinded by rage. And then Eboli…” Philip cuts himself off. He draws in a shaky breath and suddenly it’s as if an invisible force is pushing Rodrigo forward.  
His knees hit the floor in front of Philip.__

____

____

“My king, if I may…” He reaches out gingerly and places his hand on top of Philip’s. Rodrigo takes in Philip’s face, notes his bloodshot eyes, several new lines that he could have sworn were not there yesterday.  
“You have not slept all night. If you would consider a few hours of rest in the morning…”

“What, the King is old and fragile? Is that what this is?” Philip huffs. “Everyone around here seems to think so. The King can be manipulated, he can be lied to, he can be neglected, he’s too old.” His tone is dripping with disdain and once again Rodrigo is reminded of the phantoms that haunt Philip.

“Even the greatest among monarchs need to sleep sometimes. Do not exhaust yourself, Sire.” Rodrigo’s thumb caresses the King’s hand but Philip only shakes his head.

“Did you see how she hugged Eboli?” he asks, ignoring Posa’s words. “Did you see it? She has nourished a snake on her own bosom and does not suspect a thing!”

 _Well, it’s not like she would’ve gone to the man who accused her of infidelity mere seconds before,_ Rodrigo thinks but stays quiet. Philip is exhausted and strung up as it is, and Rodrigo does not want to add fire to the fuel.

Philip stands swiftly and paces around the room, finally stopping in front one of the windows. Rodrigo knows the view from that window – it opens to the gardens. Come to think of it, Rodrigo knows precisely what view each of the windows offer. It should not surprise him, considering how often he’s been coming here - and yet it does. He had not realized he'd spent so much time in the King’s personal chambers. And despite the nature of his relationship with Philip, sex was not the only thing the King wanted from him. Philip also talked to him, endlessly, obviously enjoying their conversations. Philip loved hearing him talk, at the same time urging him to keep quiet about his opinions. His voice was always low when he uttered that sinister warning – “beware of the Grand Inquisitor”. Low and trembling, as if he genuinely meant to guard Rodrigo from danger, as if –

“To betray your queen like that! Good God!”

Philip’s exclamation brings Rodrigo back to reality. He joins the King by the window, paying the view no mind and focusing on Philip’s pale face. In the morning light filtering through the window the bags under his eyes are more prominent and his greying hair seems to have more white in it than usual.

“Her Majesty will deal with the Princess, I am sure of it,” he says carefully, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible. He suspects some of the acid makes its way into his voice regardless, because suddenly Philip’s eyes are upon him and Rodrigo is painfully aware of the King’s famous piercing look.

“Posa, you cannot possibly be jealous of the Princess,” Philip says with a slight smile.

“Sire, I…”

Rodrigo’s words are roughly cut off when Philip snarls, his hand shooting forward to grab Posa by the collar.

“My name,” the King pulls him forward, “is Philip. Of all people, you should be calling me that. Can I hear it?”

Rodrigo’s breath hitches, his nerves suddenly on fire. He does not raise his gaze higher than the King’s shoulder and waits a moment, feeling Philip’s breath on his hair and the heat coming from his body.

“Philip,” Posa’s voice is gentle when he finally looks up, eyes darting from one feature to the other.

“Say it again. You insist on me being a human, so treat me like one.” The King keeps a stern façade but Rodrigo can see that eyes have softened already.

“Philip,” he repeats, leaning closer, his face level with the King’s chin.

“Again.” Philip breathes softly, still gripping Posa’s front.

“Philip,” Rodrigo whispers, his lips now grazing Philip’s neck.

The silence is deafening as Rodrigo holds his breath a moment, two, expecting the King to pull back. Posa can still recall the times when Philip rejected physical contact entirely and he has learned to be careful. But save for breathing, Philip is motionless and Rodrigo places a gentle kiss on his neck, where the nightshirt fell open earlier. Philip’s intake of breath is audible in the quiet room and Rodrigo kisses him again, more insistent this time. He feels the King’s chest heave as he trails open-mouthed kisses up his neck and jaw towards his mouth. Philip’s grasp on his clothing loosens and he turns his face to meet Rodrigo halfway.

There are certain perks to being Philip’s favourite, Posa decides. One of those perks is being kissed like this. It certainly isn’t the first time, but his bones still seem to turn liquid as he feels Philip’s mouth upon his. Philip’s kisses are insistent, taking and claiming and Rodrigo is happy to give in. He kisses fervently and Rodrigo responds in kind. Heat rushes through his entire body, pooling in his belly. It has been so easy to get used to Philip’s hot mouth, the feel of his tongue and the scrape of his beard, especially considering how with all his experience, nobody has ever kissed him like this, with such desperation and utter abandon, not even… No, he won’t think about Carlo, can’t afford to think about Carlo. There will be time for that later. After all, he is Philip’s, now. He is Philip’s and he cannot bring himself to hate this position.

“Mine,” Philip breathes against his lips, as if having read his mind.

Yes, his, although not for much longer. Rodrigo waves that thought away - he’ll come back to it when he’s not being taken apart by Philip’s mouth.  
Instead of responding, Rodrigo kisses him again and moves his hands to push the robe off his shoulders. He knows what Philip wants and he’s glad to oblige. Philip’s hands move from his chest to his shoulders and down his arms as he draws Rodrigo closer without breaking the kiss. Rodrigo presses against him with his entire body and from the way Philip’s breath hitches, he knows the King can feel Posa’s erection against his thigh. Rodrigo’s hips seem to move and grind on their own accord though, because suddenly Philip pulls back and cups his face.

“Eager, aren’t you?” He runs his thumb over Rodrigo’s lower lip and smiles, one of his rare, genuine smiles and Posa wonders if the feeling of being wanted is really so foreign to the King.

“Yes,” he breathes and he’s completely honest.

Piece by piece, clothes fall to the floor and with them - the documents Rodrigo took from Carlo. The rustle of paper does not catch the King’s attention and he doesn’t look up from where he’s trailing hot kisses down Posa’s neck. His paranoia can’t reach him in Rodrigo’s arms and Marquis is well aware of that.

Soon Philip is sitting on the edge of the bed with Rodrigo kneeling in front of him for the second time in the past hour. He settles between his spread thighs and Philip raises his hand, running it through Posa’s hair, brushing it away from his face. Giddy with lust, Rodrigo leans forward and takes him into his mouth. He’s no stranger to this, he knows exactly how to use his mouth and he’s had many opportunities to learn precisely what Philip likes. Philip’s hand stays tangled in his hair, his breath coming in short pants, while Rodrigo licks and sucks and teases. He doesn’t push, however, allowing Rodrigo complete freedom and Posa can tell that he’s holding back. Rodrigo pulls back and looks up. Philip’s eyes are closed, his head thrown back, the skin on his collarbones reddened from Rodrigo’s kisses. Rodrigo contemplates him for a second. Philip’s restraint is unusual, especially considering his enthusiasm minutes before. It doesn’t bother Rodrigo though – he’s seen Philip’s more passionate side and he knows how to make that façade of indifference drop. Posa draws him in again, as deep as he can, and is rewarded by a low groan. Philip’s hand tightens in his hair, the sharp pull making Rodirgo shiver with pleasure. He redoubles his efforts, moving his hand in rhythm and soon enough Philip’s breath gets more erratic, his moans – louder.

The sounds Philip makes are dizzying and Rodrigo can’t deny that they’re sending shocks of pleasure through him. Head swimming with desire, he moves his hand downward to seek relief, but the King is faster. He grabs his wrist, and Rodrigo looks up, meeting Philip’s heavy-lidded gaze, his eyes dark with arousal.  
“No. Wait,” he rasps and Rodrigo obeys, because he always does, doesn’t he? So instead of touching himself he brings his hand back up and lays it on Philip’s thigh, gripping him. A large palm covers his own, squeezing gently.

Rodrigo is forced to focus on the task at hand again. From the way Philip tenses, his breath speeding up, he can tell the King is close so he moans and hums around his cock, knowing exactly how it will feel to Philip. A hand falls on his shoulder and squeezes it, trying to push him away and Rodrigo almost laughs at the idea that Philip would be so considerate. He ignores the desperate pant of “I’m close” and pulls back a little, sucking on the head, using his hand for where his mouth can’t reach. Not even seconds later he feels Philip’s thighs quiver and with a low, drawn out moan the King finally comes.

Rodrigo glances up and watches this man above him shudder with pleasure and thinks that maybe, _maybe_ in another world - in another lifetime where Philip wasn’t a king, where there was no Carlo, no Flanders, no empire to think about – they could have been happy, two men together. Maybe in that life he could love Philip.  
But in this life he’s only the King’s favourite courtier – and the man who just made Philip moan and curse.

Triumphant and beaming, Rodrigo pulls back and rests his cheek against Philip’s thigh while they both catch breath. Posa looks up at Philip, who’s leaning back on his elbows, sweat glistening in the hollow of his throat, chest heaving. The King is not unattractive, Rodrigo thinks detachedly, even at his age.

“Stand,” Philip says suddenly and his voice is raspy and Rodrigo won’t lie, it goes directly to his cock. When he hesitates to move, however, Philip raises an eyebrow.

“Get up,” the King repeats and the steely note in his voice makes Rodrigo look up in disbelief. Philip gestures for him to stand and to his dismay Posa realizes the King is done with him.

He scrambles up, trying to hide his disappointment as best as possible. Rodrigo supposes the King got everything he needed from him and if now’s the time to leave, well, he’ll go back to his quarters, maybe get himself off and prepare for-

As he’s about to turn away, a hand, seemingly out of nowhere, yanks on his wrist and suddenly he’s seated in Philip’s lap, knees on either side of him. Philip is kissing him again and Posa is so taken aback it takes him a few seconds to react. The King cups Rodrigo’s jaw, thumb caressing his cheek. His other hand travels down his body, skimming over a nipple, brushing across his stomach, touching and teasing everywhere except the place Posa needs him the most.  
“Please,” he’s embarrassed at the whine that escapes him but Philip laughs softly and finally, finally wraps his palm around Rodrigo’s cock. Philip’s mouth swallows Posa’s moans. His old, experienced hand is working him expertly and Rodrigo, overwhelmed with pleasure after being aroused for so long, comes with a choked cry, spilling into the King’s palm.  
Philip wipes his hand on the corner of the sheet while Rodrigo catches his breath, slumped forward with his forehead on Philip’s shoulder. Pleasant exhaustion has settled in his limbs and his mind is comfortably fuzzy. And yet there’s so much he has to do before the evening. He tries to think of everything he has to organize – of papers to burn, money to collect, but it’s difficult to concentrate or even think. He sits there, breathing heavily and wishes he did not have to move at all.

The King raises his hand to cradle Rodrigo’s neck. His fingers gently play with the short hairs on his nape and his lips ghost over Rodrigo’s temple.

“Come,” he murmurs and pulls Posa into the bed with him.

Rodrigo reckons he can allow himself a few hours of rest after all. He lets Philip hold him and stays still, listening to the King’s breath and feeling his chest rise and fall under his cheek. Rodrigo doesn’t know how long they lie there in silence before he dozes off. When he wakes, Philip’s arms are still thrown possessively around him and his eyes are closed but Posa can feel he’s awake.

He reaches up, knuckles ghosting over Philip’s cheekbone.

“Where are you?” he asks.

“Oh Rodrigo,” Philip sighs, turning his face in Posa’s palm, “you’re the only one I have left.”

_Soon you won’t have me either, _Rodrigo thinks, and it fills him with inexplicable sadness. He imagines everything he could have accomplished by Philip’s side, thinks of the ways he could show Philip a better world, open his eyes to a kind, free life. Alas, fate had different plans for him. He was always destined to die for liberty and his prince, yet he never imagined it happening like this.__

__He says nothing and Philip continues, unaware of the thoughts plaguing his confidant.  
“My wife cannot stand to be near me and my son is actively working against me. Carlo – how dare he challenge my authority like that in front of the court, in front of the whole Madrid!”_ _

__“You’re wrong about Carlo, Sire. He longs for your approval. Open your heart to your son - he is not the traitor you imagined him to be.”_ _

__“My dear Rodrigo, I have told you already, if you address me as the King while we’re in bed, I’ll have you executed.” Philip’s eyes are warm and his tone is light now but Rodrigo knows how much Philip wants Posa to see a man in him, instead of a king. He longs for the human connection that his position deprived him of and Rodrigo, with his heart full of love and empathy cannot help but respond to this desperate cry._ _

___'My Rodrigo'_ – how tender it sounds coming from Philip’s mouth and yet how strange it is to hear his name spoken with such adoration by the father, instead of the son. But he’s promised himself he will not think about his relationship with Carlo. Not in this moment. So he pushes those thoughts away and laughs softly, turning onto his stomach. __

____

____

____“Better not talk about that right now,” Philip is above him again, peppering his back and shoulders with kisses and leaving a beard burn in their wake._ _ _ _

____Rodrigo turns in Philip’s arms, and as he’s doing so he catches a glimpse of the papers Carlo gave him, scattered on the floor among his clothes, by the window. They hold the promise of his death and Carlo’s life. His gaze lingers on the documents. Should he—no, no, he’s going to be branded a traitor to the throne regardless, so it does not really matter exactly how those papers reach Philip. And so Rodrigo shrugs, turning to face Philip, and welcomes his kiss._ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> These two have been living in my head rent-free since August so I had to do something about it. This is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written and I almost feel like I should apologize to Verdi :D  
> Title is taken from the play, the full quote is "And you at least, beneath my very eyes, May dare continue to remain a man." (R. D. Boylan's translation)


End file.
